


spooky little boy

by Patchouli (lifelesslyndsey)



Series: Brothers Grim [23]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dry Humping, Idiots in Love, Kitchen Sex, Love, M/M, Outdoor Sex, POV Diego Hargreeves, five being five
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 10:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20619677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/Patchouli
Summary: He lets Klaus slip his arms around his waist, narrow palms gliding up the tender, bruised plains of his torso. He leaves them to rest over Diego’s collar bones, and he just breathes as Diego breathes. It’s normal. It’s normal. It’s a steam-hazed moment, tied up in time, benign in weight and beige in color, it is nothing, infanticimal, a blip in an otherwise wild and disorderly life.  But Diego’s in love with his brother and that changes things.





	spooky little boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey bitches! 
> 
> WELCOME TO 100k WORDS! 
> 
> WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP
> 
> this was suppose to be a motherfucking one shot. 
> 
> Song title from Spooky by Dusty Springfield, a lil throwback for ya
> 
> In the cool of the evening  
When everything is getting kind of groovy  
You call me up and ask me  
Would i like to go with you and see a movie?  
First i say no, I've got some plans for tonight  
And then i stop and say all right  
Love is kind of crazy with a spooky little boy like you

Their little bathroom has become a hub of sorts. 

A bathroom with little privacy and a door that didn’t lock. 

Diego would be more bitter about it, but that’s how it all began, wasn’t it?

Him, and his inability to knock, and this bathroom, full to bursting with  _ 2 _ ,  _ 4 _ , and _ 6 _ . 

It’s another same occasion, Diego bustling through the door, to find it already occupied. But Ben is undisturbed by the intrusion, and so Diego has no issue with folding his clean towel over the bar and laying his clothes out on the back of the toilet. The expected shower, however, is postponed in favor of watching Ben

He’s leaning over the sink, the curled edge of the ceramic biting into the soft, low concave of his stomach, peering very intently into the mirror. His face lacks the lines around Diego’s eyes or the new strands of silver-grey in Klaus's hair, curling peculiar at his temples. He’s smooth skin and baby fat cheeks and unless Diego’s hallucinating - a single hair budding at the upper left corner of his mouth. 

And God - Ben’s thirty, just like the rest of them. Almost a year has passed since the Apoco-not. Their birthday was what---- six weeks away? Five?  _ Thirty _ . And so yeah - Ben was thirty, but Diego remembers with perfect clarity - being sixteen or so, and leaning up against the same sink and staring with a strange new anxiety, at his peppery, patchy stubble. It’s such a juxtaposition of feeling - a giddy, goofy sort of adorable pride, and at the same time, something strangely protective but predatory. Ben is a beautiful boy, and only they know the truth of him - the  _ man  _ of him. Diego thinks, with such a soft and warm certainty, he’d kill a man for hurting him. 

Hilarious, given that Ben is more than capable of protecting himself. 

Still - he’s a beautiful boy, shy grace personified, and Diego is  _ violent  _ for it. 

And so he crowds right in. 

And as he speaks, his words are muffled, by the smooth curve of Ben’s neck where it melds into his shoulder, where Diego’s mouth fits so nicely. It’s a familiar touch now, how strange, and Diego kicks the door shut just to watch Ben smile. “Looks like you need to shave.” 

Not hardly, but Diego remembers the giddy, goofy feeling of his first shave and he wants that for Ben. He does. And the wry curl to Ben’s smile says he knows this, too. “I don’t even know how.” 

Diego scrapes the rough grit of his own stubble across Ben’s skin but waits to marvel at the pink burn sure to appear. “I can show you.” Diego  _ likes _ showing Ben bullshit like this. Yeah - sure, they make it a little  _ kinky  _ but Diego actually likes being a big brother. He worms his hand under Ben’s arm and pops the medicine cabinet open, fishing out a razor and foam. 

He smacks another kiss against Ben’s cheek before letting him slide out, and perch on the edge of the bathtub. The upturn of his face is strangely cherubic and Diego’s more or less accepted the visceral gut-punch of fucked-up lust that hits him every time Ben looks particularly pure. 

And that’s how Ben watches and listens as Diego drones on about warm water first, shaving with the grain, rinsing his shitty plastic razor --- 

He pauses when he hears the doorknob  _ snick, _ uninclined to let Klaus startle him into another scar. “Yes?” 

Klaus leans in casual curves against the door, a haze of sparkling smoke rising up around him. He flicks ash on the bath rug and Diego knows he’s silently hoping the whole place goes up in flames one day. “What’s this?” 

“Baby boy’s growin’ a mustache,” Diego comments, dragging the razor down his face once more. He knows Ben’s not watching anymore - he’s probably blushing, brilliant pink, and staring at his kneecaps. “Thought I’d show my little brother how to shave.” 

“Oh God, Benny - learn nothing from him. Unlearn everything he’s ever taught you. This is how the peasants shave. Your face is too pretty for that.” He crosses the little bathroom with a single step and snatches the razor straight from Diego and tosses it with all the theatrics of a circus performer, over his left shoulder. It skitters across the floor and out into the hallway. Klaus kicks the door shut the same way Diego had. “I’ll show you with the straight razor. The proper way. The  _ classy  _ way.” 

Diego snorts. “It’s not better just because it’s older. The disposable ones are fine.” 

“They’re fine if you’re in prison, Diego. They’re fine if you don’t care about yourself and have no pride.” He gets his arm up under Diego’s, pushing right up into his space, mouth to Diego’s ear. “Pretty boys deserve better.” 

“Klaus.” Diego rolls his eyes and ignores the burn his cheeks “It doesn’t---” 

But Klaus interrupts --- _ “How about you let Daddy show you. _ ” 

And maybe it’s the way he shifts from casual comedy to this, fast as a car crash, that makes Diego’s whole body sway. Or maybe it’s the fact he’s never said that in front of Ben. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at Diego in the reflection of the mirror. Or the way Ben’s breath goes sharp, where he’s sitting there - watching. 

Klaus drags ben’s damp towel down from where it hangs over the shower curtain bar and presses it against Diego’s chest. “Clean your face.” 

Diego...Diego does. He just does. He lets the water warm and wipes away the foam from his face. Feels foolish for the patchy streak of bare skin. Stands very still while Klaus leans over him and opens the cabinet. On the top shelf is a heavy wooden case Klaus had stolen from their father's room after the Apocanot - with a straight razor, and thick boar-haired brush. Diego wears him like a backpack, arms under his own, Klaus's chest pressed flat against Diego’s back. He mixes the foam, holding Diego’s gaze and nothing is said - Diego holds his breath and Klaus smiles. Ben is a silent ball of color at their side and Diego wants to look at him so badly but he’s afraid to break Klaus's gaze - afraid to break the quick and fierce spell. 

Klaus keeps his face pressed to Diego’s temple as he paints the foam in swirls over his face. His knuckles hurt where they’re curled over the edge of the sink and he twitches, very faintly, when cool fingertips curl over his own. He lets his Ben tangle their hands and it’s dizzying, the effort it takes not to clench down, and grind all those little bones together. 

But Ben is soft. And Diego is better than that. 

Klaus smiles wider and Diego feels like a  _ puppet _ . Played and played with. 

It’s good. 

God - it’s good. 

He lets his head fall against Klaus's shoulder, as he watches Klaus long fingers fold open the blade. It fits his hands perfectly, sleek and gleaming where the pale ivory inlay rests between his ring and middle fingers. Diego is caught on Klaus’s thumb, where it’s pressed just beneath the blade the same way it’s so often pressed against his bottom lip. 

And Klaus is hard, the line of his cock nestled perfectly between Diego’s ass, pressing in the small of his back and Diego wants to push back - ride it like a fucking  _ slut _ , but he can’t move, not when Klaus is bringing his hand down and---

It’s cold. Shockingly so. 

The first glide of the edge  _ feels  _ like tires on gravel  _ sounds _ . A micro-vibration you feel in your bones. Diego swallows, dry and quick when Klaus moves to wipe the razor on the towel. It’s a very bright blade in a very pale hand against tan skin and Diego thinks it wouldn’t take very much to paint it all red. 

A brief inclination and the slightest pressure and it would be over before Diego could even consider fighting. Klaus stops with the corner of the blade pressed against his jugular like he can read Diego's mind. "I use to shake so badly," he tells them both, drawing the razor up once more with a quick flick of his wrist and Diego things again - it wouldn’t take much at all. ."God, do you remember how I use to shake, Benny?" 

" _ Yes _ ." Ben’s voice is feral and when he speaks, it’s a hiss. Diego risks a glance in the mirror, and in the reflection is not a boy afraid of a rough hand, not a boy confused or angry at the sight of Klaus’ hand on Diego’s throat. Diego’s---sad, in a way, to see that slip away. But what’s there instead is compelling, a bright-eyed demon painted in reverse in silver glass. Oh, he’s still bright pink, all the colors of the sunset, but his teeth are bared like he can’t  _ stand  _ it, and Diego remembers with a violent sort of clarity - that Ben understands what Diego wants now. 

And Ben wants to give it to him. 

  
  


Soft, quiet, mouthy, shy,  _ new  _ Ben. Benny Boy who blushes at even the slightest innuendo. Eager Ben who gets hard when their fingers brush. Easy Ben who comes so fast, wet and messy and ready already. Ben looks raptured, on his knees and Diego feels close to  _ believing  _ in something, here and now, under the razor edge of Klaus's curved smile. 

If  _ God  _ were a moment - this is it.

Klaus kisses his temple, and Diego thinks, as the razor snicks across his skin once more, leaving smooth clean patches of fresh pink skin - Diego thinks---

Klaus is very beautiful. Very real. Very wild. And Diego wants to stay beneath his palm forever. The essence of the moment - of the here and now - will never be captured by another hand. Diego will never feel like  _ this  _ with anyone else. Not between soft, thick thighs. Not in long, blonde hair. Not in the new curves of any stranger. Not in any woman, and not in any man. Not even Ben - that’s something else entirely (something born of latent trauma-induced guilt, general perversion and a genuine desire to be the best Big Brother Ben could ask for) This - whatever finite matter made this moment, made the magic - this was something specific to  _ Klaus _ , something specific to them. There are layers to the tangle between them - brothers, Hargreeves, partners,  _ partners  _ and....whatever this is. 

It’s like the fight goes out of him, like the last stubborn knot of fury still holding tight inside of him gives and he deflates everso  _ minutely _ , back against Klaus's chest. His lashes flutter and Klaus must see something in him - see something on his face- because the razor snicks shut, and Klaus is turning his foam-covered cheek, looking him in the eye. “Hey--- you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Diego says, gruffly. He clears his throat and forces himself to look at Klaus. To open his eye. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just---” 

“Too much?” The ivory inlay of the razor’s handle is cool against Diego’s skin where it’s caught between his cheek and Klaus's palm. “We can stop.” 

“No, I--- No.” He swallows, a dry roll, and he breathes, long and deep. “No.” 

“Okay.” Just like that, Klaus doesn’t question Diego’s decision and it means more than Klaus realizes probably. It means more than Diego could really put into words. Beneath his own hand, Ben’s fingers wiggle, until Diego lets him go just enough to tangle their palms. Klaus leans Diego to tilt his head back and this time when he begins to shave, he keeps his mouth pressed to Diego’s ear. He doesn’t speak, but the warm, even waves of his breath are soothing just the same and Diego feels lulled, soft and syrupy in Klaus's hands. 

When Klaus is finished, Diego’s skin is singing, and Ben’s still at his feet with his cheek resting against Diego’s thigh and it’s a soft and sleepy moment, where they’re all tangled up. Diego reaches up with his free hand to palm at the back of Klaus’ neck, to hold him in place. To feel a kiss melt into a smile, with the scrape of teeth tickling his skin. They look good. They look  _ good _ , together, like this. 

And Diego deflates again, tension overflowing over the edges, spilling across the floor and this time when Klaus turns Diego’s face up to look at him, Diego’s ready, Diego’s here. He kisses Klaus, soft and giving. 

“Yeah?” Klaus says and Diego doesn’t know what he’s asking, not at all, but he knows the answer. 

“ _ Yeah _ .” 

And from there - his skin is humming and Diego thinks he probably sustains on the feeling alone for the better part of two days. He feels goofy, stupid, prickly bright and anxious. It’s the same feeling that haunted him as a child - a fear of sorts. Diego wants to cover it, hideaway with it in the dark and never let anyone see it for what it is. Hug it to his chest until he can steal it away, and lock it up where only he can touch it. 

He’s afraid, just a little bit. Afraid that it should end. 

And should he forget that fear- the world reminds him. 

Klaus is standing in the kitchen, picking the marshmallows out of a box of Lucky Charms. He doesn’t even like the marshmallows - he’ll give them to Ben, probably. He’s doing it to fuck with Luther. For no other reason than to simply fuck with Luther, no matter how much Klaus likes to refer to their breakfast games as  _ social experiments.  _

He looks over his bare shoulder, pepper-stubbled chin brushing a plum stained bruise in the exact shape of Diego’s teeth. He grins, and it’s beautiful. He’s  _ beautiful _ . Diego’s sore - he’d had a long night, taken a few hits and fell down a full flight of stairs. He feels old. He feels thirty-one pushing in on him the same way dull knives threaten to break the skin. Klaus always wakes up early the nights Diego stays out late. 

“You hungry?” He asks, turning back to his work - marshmallow rainbows, hearts and clovers amassing in a pale, ceramic dish. “I could burn some eggs. Or I could wake Ben up and he could make the food you’d actually enjoy?” 

There’s a set of four marks scratched deep over his left shoulder blade that definitely isn’t Diego, and he knows somewhere in the house, Ben’s a fucked-out puddle, probably covered in come and naked. Klaus probably put him there, for Diego to find, sticky and sleepy and starfished on his bed. And Klaus is in the kitchen in low-hanging sweatpants that definitely are Diego’s, entertaining himself while he waits for Diego to get home. 

Diego does not come home to this house. 

He comes home to Klaus. 

He barely hears his bag hit the kitchen floor, clanking and thunking even as he stomps forward. Klaus is still talking, but Diego hears nothing - save for the rushing, bounding, beating of his own blood where it turns his world red. He spins Klaus where he stands, bends him backwards over the counter and kisses him the way they did the first time, and the second - and every time. Klaus stiffens at first, startling, but the met of his body is sticky candy-sweet and he moves into Diego like he was born to it - like they were born it to it, all the crooked nooks of his body fitting perfectly to the jagged break of Diego’s own. He cups Diego’s face and tilts himself into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut and mouth curled into a smile. 

Diego holds him by the hips and forces space where there is none, getting as much of himself stretched thin across Klaus's body. He thinks he might be - he might honestly be growling, but Klaus is just--- And Diego----

And Diego is very much in love with him. 

“What's gotte---” Klaus tries to speak, but Diego won’t have it, biting at his bottom lip and kissing him deeper. “Shit--- _ Fuck,”  _ he sputters when Diego  _ picks him up  _ and drops him on the counter. It gives Klaus the upper hand, looking down at Diego, broken wild curls cast in the halos of 6:00 am light. Maybe he means to speak - finish the thought, but he kisses Diego instead, where he’s fitting himself between Klaus's thighs. He’s still holding Diego’s face like he’s something precious or maybe something wild. He takes the kiss with a deft sort of precision, drawing Diego up until he’s on his tiptoes, the sharpened bite his nails carving half-moon smiles up Klaus’ spine. 

“Hey, you guys seen my---- _ Oh my God. _ ” There’s a crash, ceramic against tile, and something hot splashes Diego’s calves, even as the smell of whiskey stained coffee hits his nose.  _ “I spent forty fucking years trying to get back to this?”  _

Five. 

Klaus smacks his head hard against the cupboards, as he and Diego break apart with the exact speed a bandaid should be ripped off. “Ah--- _ Fuck _ .” He grasps the back of his head with a hiss and a wince and Diego can't stop himself from rushing back forward, concern and horror making for a strange storm under his skin. 

Five is just--- He’s just staring, and Diego wants to do nothing more than fucking run, but Klaus's fingertips are  _ red _ . “Oh shit,” he mutters, fumbling forward to drag the kitchen towel from where it hangs over the oven handle. “Fuck - you okay?” He pushes himself back between Klaus thighs and presses the towel to the base of his skull. “You’re okay,” he says more firmly when Klaus doesn’t answer. 

Klaus is looking at Five, over Diego’s shoulder. His face says nothing, so perfectly empty, it frightens him. Diego chances a glance back, and Five is still there, standing perfectly still, a broken mug and a puddle bleeding across the fresh mopped floor. Diego bares his teeth, having chosen fight over flight, but Klaus's hand settles on his hip and Diego is shamelessly  _ tamed _ . 

Five misses none of this. Of course, he doesn’t. It’s  _ Five _ . “I thought you were fucking Ben.” 

“I  _ am _ ,” Diego says, just as Klaus says “I  _ am _ .” 

Great. 

“Right.” Five stares blank-faced, at the cupboard to their left. It’s been two years since the apocalypse and Five looks...just like Ben. Young, and old. Almost a man, but with baby fat and a shadow in their eyes. “Right. This changes things.” 

“What,” Diego barks just as Klaus squeaks “ _ what _ ?” 

“This  _ changes  _ things,” Five repeats, with comically wide eyes, and the fucking uniform short-pants. “This changes things,” he says again and Diego’s certain, he’s so fucking certain he’s going to wake up from a dream. A nightmare. And Ben will be there, and Klaus will be near but it never happens, he doesn’t wake up and Klaus is still bleeding, faint but warm, where it soaks through the towel and across Diego’s skin. “This timeline must be different. Hmm.”

“What?” Klaus says again, but Five’s muttering, and shaking his head and when he looks around the room - Diego knows he’s looking for  _ Dolores _ . 

“You okay?” He asks, turning away from Klaus just a little. He’s caught on the concern, between two brothers and Klaus--- 

Klaus is winning. Diego feels guilt, but only a little. He loves Five. He does. 

Five shakes his head. “I’m fine. I just...I need to rework the calculations. This timeline is different. I must have----Hmm....” And he’s already turning, already frowning. 

“That’s it?” Klaus blinks mouth purses in a clenched frown. 

Five blinks, looking up startled as if he’d forgotten already they were there. “I don’t care if you’re fucking each other. I don’t care who you’re fucking. This family is a fucking nightmare, but I spent forty-goddamn-years trying to get back to it. You think I’m gonna fuckin’ lose my shit over a little incest? Do you know the shit I’ve seen?” And Diego supposes that’s fair. That’s fucking fair. 

Five leaves. Klaus is still bleeding. “Head wounds---” 

“You okay?” Klaus asks like Diego isn’t holding his split fucking skull. Blood thickens between his fingers, tacky and warm. “You look fucking freaked, dude.” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Five is in an abstinent relationship with  _ half  _ a life-sized Barbie sans the hair which is the best part like what the fuck, I think he’s actually the least likely to judge us.” 

And there are a lot of things at this moment that should take precedent, but----“he doesn’t---” like- at all?

Klaus shakes his head and Diego’s reminded that he is  _ beautiful _ . The way that weird things are: spider webs, and cracks in the sidewalk made to look like flowers. He’s beautiful like carnage is - the way the eye of the storm and the aftermath are both terribly, hauntingly, frighteningly beautiful. He’s beautiful like photographs- a solid three seconds of perfection trapped forever. 

He’s beautiful in a way Diego can feel, and not just see. 

  
  


Diego doesn’t say that. Instead, he says, “Seriously though. _Nothing_?”   
  
“He says it wouldn't be right,” he tells him solemnly. “You uh...You gonna get all weird about this? I mean, do what you gotta - but like, don’t ghost Ben, okay? Pun unintended but still hilarious - he just...he deserves more than you just doing your _man in the shadows_ schtick.” 

_ You deserve more too _ , Diego thinks as loudly as he fucking can, but Klaus will never get the message, so Diego will never stop thinking it. “I’m not---” He’s not certain what’s not right now though, he’s only certain of what he  _ is  _ and it’s--- He’s in love with Klaus. He’s in love with his brother but more importantly than that, he’s in love with  _ Klaus _ . 

Absurd. It’s fucking  _ absurd _ . It’s so goddamn absurd, Diego accidentally bursts into laughter, the goofy, broken, incredulous kind where too many of his goddamn teeth show and he’ll dwell over later but--- Klaus is fucking looking at him, half leant back over the counter as if some space will protect him from Diego’s apparent mental  _ snap _ . “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, through a dumb fucking smile and Klaus's eyes are narrowed now but he’s not actively trying to escape so Diego figures it for fine. “I’m not,” he says again, struggling for something a little more solemn but he’s still struck stupid all the same. He takes Klaus face between his hands and pulls him forward, until their foreheads press and cool, tattooed palms curl over his wrists. “I’m  _ not _ .” 

And the way Klaus lashes flutter, the way his shoulders drop - Diego realizes Klaus might want to run. He’s just as good as making himself vanish as Diego ever was - better, perhaps. And there’s nothing Diego could put into words to stop him, so he does what he can - and he kisses him. 

He’s still dressed - still sore and bruised. His bottom lip stings. His knuckles might still be bleeding, faintly, where he breaks open the fresh scabs every time he flexes his fingers. Still, he lets his palms slide, down Klaus's neck, his bare chest. He pulls him closer with hands on his back, feels every bump and grind of his spine, cut like a serrated knife - they always did the most damage. Klaus lets him, obliging so much as to hook both his thighs over Diego’s hips. 

And it's weird to think that not so long ago, Diego thought he was kissing Klaus because that's what Klaus needed. Now, Diego finds himself plastered to his brother for purely selfish reasons. It's endorphins. It's a high. He wishes he'd had the thought to shed his shirt, so he could feel all of Klaus skin against his own. Maybe that's what Eudora meant by empathy. Wanting the same things. 

_ Feeling  _ the same things. 

He pauses, just to breathe....just to let Klaus breathe, and the taste is rusted copper from Diego's busted mouth. “I’ll stay if you’ll stay.” 

“All things being equal,” Klaus replies, but there’s still space between them and Diego can’t stand it. He pushes further in, gets all of himself up against all of Klaus and lifts him up off the counter. Klaus flails, but chooses to latch more tightly onto Diego, than secure himself to the counter. “You can’t---You can’t fucking carry me upstairs---” 

Diego laughs as he shoulders his way through the kitchen. There’s coffee on the floor, and broken glass. He leaves it all in favor of biting bruises into the curve of Klaus's throat. “We were  _ never  _ going to make it to the room, Five or not.” To enforce this fact, Diego detours to the french doors, pressing Klaus against the etched glass so he can kiss him one more time. 

Klaus allows this with a baffled, but amused smile. “What---” Diego kisses him again, catching the corner of his mouth. “What’s up with you right now? Not that---Fuck, not that I’m complaining, but this is a far cry from spitting in my cheerios and tying my laces to the chair legs  _ shit--- _ ” 

Diego’s stumbling them out onto the patio, a door sticking shut behind them. “I haven't done any of that in years.” God - but he remembers it like it was yesterday. Klaus had been so small, and Diego just wanted to be in control of something. 

Hilarious now - he’d do anything Klaus asked. He’d do  _ anything _ . 

“Yeah but you’ve  _ never  _ done this,” Klaus argues and Diego’s certain it makes sense in his head, but it’s just as baffling as anything else that comes out of Klaus. 

Still, Diego supposes that’s fair. He’s never done this. And he wonders in a way that makes his palms itch for violence - has anyone ever  _ loved  _ Klaus? Properly and with a whole heart? He knows Klaus has been in love before -  _ Dave _ . Did Dave love Klaus? Diego would like to think so - but he’ll never be sure and so all he can do 

All he can do 

Is love his goddamn brother

With a whole heart 

And yeah it might be fucked up. Sometimes it keeps him up at night, turning his stomach, twisting him up. He’s fucking his brothers. He’s fucking his goddamn brothers and he gets off on it like a goddamn fucked up piece of shit. And it’s not better that he’s in love with Klaus - it might be worse. But shit - Diego almost watched the world burn. He sees the worst that humanity has to offer, every single night, and it’s not Klaus. It’s not Klaus or Ben or Him. It’s not Allison or Luther. It’s not. It might not be right - but it’s what they have and Diego’s never been happier in his fucking life than he is now. With all his family together, even the way they are. 

And there are probably better ways of showing Klaus how much Diego’s going to love him, than pressing him into the hedges beside the house and sucking his fucking dick - but really, that’s Klaus love  _ language _ . Diego’s parsed out all the way his body talks and though his tongue might not be fluent - he’s learning. 

Diego  _ hums _ , and Klaus wails, fingers curling into his hair. It’s easy to forget he fell down a flight of stairs two hours ago, with Klaus thighs framing his face, and the heels of his bare feet pressing hard into the curl of his back. Klaus sweatpants are abandoned in the faded, dry mulch, and Little rocks and cigarette butts bite into Diego’s knees, where he knelt in the dirt. Nothing Diego’s doing has any particular  _ finesse _ . It’s messy, spit-sticky and without any real rythm but Klaus is crying so pretty, so painfully fucking hard where he’s pressed against Diego’s tongue, he thinks it might be okay---

“Baby,” Klaus gasps and Diego’s---

Diego can’t----

“Baby, fuck. Baby,  _ baby---- _ ” 

Diego  _ can’t---- _

And then Klaus is rolling his hips, pushing up against Diego’s face and he feels --- the first bump of Klaus cock hitting the back of his throat is enough to turn his vision split-second  _ black _ . He breathes hard out his nose and loses any focus as Klaus comes crying, across his tongue. 

“Ahh,” Klaus said, faintly shrill. “Fucking---Fuck. _ Fuck fuck fuck _ .” He’s got an arm thrown over his face, and he’s shaking his head back and forth, chest heaving. “ _ Diego _ .” 

And Diego--- Diego still has Klaus cock in his mouth, gone half-soft and tacky with come. There’s blood on his hands, and he’s left smears of red across Klaus's body, a pale stretch of red and white in a backdrop of green speckled earth. 

Things are hazy from there - Diego couldn’t tell you the day. Klaus gets them in the shower, strips Diego of all his torn and bloodied clothes. He slides beneath the water behind Diego, and plasters himself to his back, boney jut of his chin coming to hook over Diego’s shoulder. Beneath them, mud and blood swirl and stream washed away down the gurgling faucet. 

He lets Klaus slip his arms around his waist, narrow palms gliding up the tender, bruised plains of his torso. He leaves them to rest over Diego’s collar bones, and he just breathes as Diego breathes. It’s normal. It’s _normal_. It’s a steam-hazed moment, tied up in time, benign in weight and beige in color, it is nothing, infanticimal, a blip in an otherwise wild and disorderly life. But Diego’s in love with his brother and that changes things.   
  
In the mirror, Diego sees Klaus as a _man_. Sharp and beautiful, brilliant and wild, but beneath that - beneath the raw scraped cut of his rib cage, beneath the razor curve of his jaw, or his sickle-moon smile - Diego still sees the spooky little boy he used to be. Klaus turns to press a kiss to the beating pulse of Diego’s throat, but he never really looks away. 

It’s quiet in the bathroom, the cornerstone of what they are. And as they clamber from the tub, dripping water on the cracked tile floor, Diego thinks - this is gonna change things. 

  
  



End file.
